Unblemished

by Sara Ella

  This is a whole new kind of strange. Snickers and avoidance I’m used to, but someone looking at me with . . . awe? Wonder? I don’t know how to react. I’m almost afraid to ask, but I can’t help myself. “Who gave me this mark?”

  Sudden silence, so tangible I can almost hear my blood pumping through my veins. They exchange grins, eyes alight where moments ago sadness lingered. It’s Robyn who breathes, “The vessel of the Verity, of course.”

  ELEVEN

  Sudden Heat

  Whoa. Back up. Hold the phone. Take a number. “Excuse me?” I gape at them. “You’re telling me . . . what are you telling me exactly?” I press my palm against my forehead.

  They open their mouths at the same time and then a knock, knock, knock resounds from the door. Robyn moves toward it, but Wade gestures for her to stay put. She takes a seat on the stool again as Wade crosses the cabin and answers.

  “Thirty minutes,” someone says. “Have the girl ready.” Wade blocks my view, but the voice undoubtedly belongs to Saul the Grouch. Not that I’d recognize him otherwise considering I haven’t actually seen him yet.

  “Very well.” The door clicks closed. Rather than returning to story hour, Wade bustles about the cabin. Bottles clink. Cupboards open and close. He adds a log to the woodstove. Crackle. Whine. Bang.

  I focus on Robyn. We don’t have long. It’s up to her to finish explaining.

  Before I can ask, she swallows, clears her throat, and says, “Where was I?”

  “The Verity. And my mark.”

  She offers a slow nod. Deliberate. As if choosing her next words. “What you must first understand is the very nature of the Verity. Humans have a tendency for darkness and light. To choose good or evil.” Palms upturned, she mimics the movement of a scale. “But no such mixture exists for the Verity or the Void. The Void houses no light. The Verity embraces no darkness. So when the Verity seeks a new vessel, it always searches out the purest heart—the person least likely to be swayed by darkness. A heart so true has the capacity to love like no other. And a love like that? It changes a person.”

  “What does any of this have to do with me?” I shift. The hammock swings and creaks.

  Reaching out, Robyn stills the hammock. Her gaze wanders. “Until now we’ve only hoped. Guessed. Waited blindly for the Verity’s return. To save us all. It wasn’t until you arrived that dream became a reality.” Two espresso eyes lock on mine.

  “I’m not following.” Spit it out already.

  “The mark on your face is proof the Verity lives—that Aidan lives. It’s a phenomenon Papa claims he’s seen only once before—on the queen herself. A mark appearing when one has been touched—loved—by the Verity’s vessel. Only death can release the Verity from its current home. King Aidan must still be out there somewhere. If he’d died, if the Verity had found a new soul to reside within, that person would’ve come forward by now.”

  “Let me get this straight. You think the Verity’s vessel—King Aidan—touched me? Loved me?” Sudden heat ignites my neck. My marked cheek. “How is that even possible? I’ve had this mark since I was a baby. If what you say is true, the king touched me as an infant. I’m almost eighteen. If he’s your savior, where’s he been all these years?”

  Robyn shrugs. “Who knows? Perhaps he’s afraid of what Jasyn’s become. It’s even possible the king and queen were imprisoned, hidden in the catacombs deep beneath the castle. But it doesn’t matter now. Because we have you.”

  I turn my head to the side. Daylight wanes as shadows stretch across the cabin floor. “There must be some mistake. I’m nobody.”

  Freak. Ugly. Hideous. Deformed.

  Worthless.

  The names I’ve been called all my life flood my memory. Every one of them digs its way in, expounds on the definition of me.

  My shoulders slump. Don’t feel. Don’t care.

  Clasping my hand, Robyn rushes on, “There’s no mistake. You are more important than you realize. The mark, it binds your soul to the vessel. Bound souls always find one another. Once you’re healed, you can lead us to him. If he’s locked away, we’ll free him. Then the rightful king can return the Void to its prison.”

  “How am I supposed to lead you to your king?” This is so much more than I bargained for. All I want is to rescue Mom and get as far away from this place as possible. Is that what she wanted? Is it why she took me? Hid me away?

  I can’t blame her for never sharing any of this. I wouldn’t have believed her. I would’ve thought it was her well-meaning way of making me feel like my birthmark was a blessing, not a curse. That my deformity served a purpose. Which is crazy. Look where this thing has gotten me.

  Joshua is dead. Mom is in danger.

  I’m dynamite. I should’ve stayed home. Holed up. Nonexistent. Invisible. I’m a danger to anyone who gets close.

  At some point I’m going to explode.

  Bang!

  Robyn and I jump.

  Wade bends, snatches a pot from the floor. “Apologies. Carry on.”

  “As I said, bound souls always find one another.” She offers a knowing look. In this moment her eyes hold the wisdom of a woman well beyond her teenage years. Taking my still-full bowl, she retreats, her footsteps cat quiet. I feel the absence of her calming presence instantly.

  I relax into the hammock, close my eyes, even if for just a moment. Bound souls find one another? How? When? If I’m attached to King Aidan, wouldn’t I feel . . . something? Anything? A nudge. A pull. A voice in a dream?

  Instead I feel nothing.

  “It’s time.”

  I open my eyes. Funny how you never realize how tired you are until you need to sleep and can’t. A dim lantern burns on the windowsill, twilight in full swing beyond the glass. Robyn and Wade stand by the door along with a figure who is unmistakably Gage.

  “We’ve done all we can,” Wade whispers. “It’s up to you now.”

  “The team is ready.” Gage doesn’t bother hushing his response. “Five in all, including the girl. The smaller our caravan, the better our chance at success.”

  Pain-free, I sit, the Illusoden still working wonders.

  Robyn joins me, my boots and a jacket identical to Wren’s in hand. “These are pretty dry now, thanks to the fire.” She sets the boots on the floor beneath my dangling feet. “This is my sister’s. She won’t miss it.” With a wink she helps me shrug into the sleeves.

  “Thanks.” I slip on Mom’s Uggs.

  We walk out together, and Robyn gives me a small hug. Her touch is a sunbeam in the night. “Be careful. You may feel better now, but you aren’t healed. Don’t make any big movements to speed up the internal bleeding and absolutely no running.” She hands me a tiny vial tied to a loop of string. “More Illusoden. It’s all we have left. Don’t take it unless you absolutely must.”

  I nod, sliding the string over my head like a necklace and tucking the vial beneath my shirt.

  “These too.” She hands me a bulgy satchel and a canteen. “Promise you’ll eat a little something every hour. I will petition the Verity for a safe journey.” Her hand palms her heart. “With any providence, you’ll find Nathaniel and he’ll heal you. I can’t imagine he would refuse when he sees you are his granddaughter and the greatest hope for our people.”

  An internal groan. No pressure or anything. “Okay.” I descend the porch steps and inhale, but compost and smoke taint the air, making the breath less satisfying. Three men stand several yards away dressed in clothing similar to Wren’s. They all have a satchel or pack of some sort. The short, pudgy one carries a bow and quiver of arrows like Makai. I join them, then look back at the cabin. One last glimpse of the Physic and his kind daughter wedges a lump in my throat. I might never see them again.

  Answering my heart’s cry, Robyn waves. “We’ll see you soon.”

  How can she be so optimistic?

  Gage shakes Wade’s hand. “We’re traveling by land and sea. Not as fast, but safer. I don’t dare risk having her moved by air again.
If I thought we had time, I’d retrieve the Physic and bring him back to heal her. Taking her with us is our best option for a positive outcome on all counts.”

  Moonlight washes the forest floor, exposing Wade’s worried frown. “She informed me she’ll be eighteen in three weeks. That gives us a very small window—”

  Our leader nods. “It’ll be fine. Three weeks is plenty of time.”

  When Gage reaches me, I touch his arm. Swallow. “Gage? About my mom . . .”

  “Wade filled me in. I’ll do my best to form a rescue mission once you’re well and safely returned to our hideout. I won’t make any promises, but I will try.”

  I bite back my argument. She needs rescue sooner, not later. But what can I do? I’m bleeding internally. Gage’s answer has to be good enough. For now.

  Then we’re leaving. Gage takes the lead and two others follow, one stout, the second massive. The last man, petite and boyish, falls in step behind me. This is a sandwich, and I’m the butcher’s special.

  I squint toward Wade and Robyn, standing huddled on the porch, watching us. My heart cinches. I was wrong. Because I do feel something. I gaze without seeing the back in front of me, dwelling on Robyn’s gentle voice and Wade’s warm smile.

  For the first time today I wonder if maybe Mom’s not the only person who needs saving.

  TWELVE

  Hearts Leap

  Crunch, crunch, crunch. My entourage’s monotonous march drones on. Like listening to Joshua eat Oreos.

  I miss him so much. Has it only been half a day since he held me in the subway? Feels like decades. If I hadn’t taken an involuntary bath in the Threshold, his scent might linger in my T-shirt. I lift my collar and sniff. Nothing but dirt and mildew. Not a trace of him remains.

  “Everything I’ve done is because . . .”

  Because you what, Joshua? Because you wanted to see King Aidan returned to the throne? Because you were doing your duty? What were you going to say?

  I’ll never know. I want to curl up in a ball and mourn him properly. I want to go back and kiss him before I was yanked away. I want to tell him I love him. I want him to say it too.

  I want what I can’t have. More time.

  It’s odd. My brain’s aware my life is draining, but aside from a broken heart, my body feels fine. Better than fine, really. I feel eight-hours-of-sleep, don’t-even-need-coffee good. What’s in that Illusoden stuff anyway?

  I finger the vial hanging from my neck.

  “Don’t take it unless you absolutely must.”

  The way I feel now, I doubt I’ll need to.

  The only person here I sort of know is Gage. No one else has bothered introducing themselves. We’re well past the populated area. Storefronts and cottages with lantern-lit windows no longer dot the path. No tromes either. Just boring, Third Reflection–type trees. Still, there are oddities I’d never see at home. Spanish moss dangling in copious swags from evergreens. Vibrant wild roses, alive and thriving even in late autumn, carpeting fallen logs. Shallow streams bustling with glowing purple fish, creating bright runways for birds of prey. Mysterious. Beautiful. Clearly an area not taken by the Void.

  Yet.

  When we finally halt, I almost run into the very tall and wide Samoan-looking dude in front of me. Thankfully, I stop inches before my face meets brawny muscle. I make room. Lean to the side. Peer down the line. A cluster of boulders rises ahead. A cave yawns at their center. No, not a cave. A tomb. Two statuesque guards stand on either side of its mouth.

  Gage strides away and enters the black den. The guards don’t bat an eye.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Grabbing some collateral.” The unexpected female voice approaches from behind.

  I twirl. Face-to-face with a young woman not a day over twenty-five. Boy-cut hair sticks out in every direction from her pixie-like head. She’s just the kind of girl they’d cast as Peter Pan on Broadway. Petite. In the dark I assumed everyone here was male. Her face, though, is anything but masculine.

  “Collateral?”

  “Gage has his reasons.” Samoan Dude steps up beside me, the reflection of the moonlight on his bald head a soft halo. Wow. Those are the fleshiest lips I’ve ever seen.

  A breeze picks up, sending the scents of peppermint and tobacco my way. I cough, covering it up with the back of my arm.

  “Move back a little, Kuna. You’ll choke her to death.” The woman laughs, then addresses me. “You’ll have to excuse my husband. We all have our vices. Tobacco is his. He thinks he can hide it by rubbing peppermint leaves on his skin. I always say that makes the stink more pronounced.”

  Husband? These two are New Yorker and country bumpkin opposite.

  “Appearances can deceive.”

  Ky’s words haunt me. Why did I let him get to me?

  “Sorry, Stormy.” Kuna widens the gap.

  Thank you. “No problem. I’m from a big city. I’ve smelled worse.” The words flow free before I realize what I’m saying. I peek at him. Is he offended?

  He hoots, bends over, and slaps his knee.

  “Shhh,” Stormy hushes through her own lightweight giggle.

  Here it comes. I’m laughing. Not because anything is particularly funny, but because Stormy and Kuna’s fit is viral. Ow, ow, ow. It hurts. I can’t stop. I’m shaking so hard I’m crying. I can’t see through my squinty eyes. Robyn’s gonna kill me for not being careful. Any minute my insides could rip apart.

  “What the crowe? Are you three looking to get us all killed?” The gruff voice from earlier hisses through the gloom. Saul.

  We freeze, though Stormy lets out one last snicker.

  I inhale deep, slow breaths. Man, my middle aches, but it was worth it. I haven’t laughed that way in—

  What am I doing? I shouldn’t be laughing. It isn’t right. Not when Joshua’s death is so fresh.

  I’m sorry, I think to no one.

  “Watch your mouth, Preacher. We weren’t that loud.” Kuna’s attempted whisper emits at a normal volume.

  Saul—Preacher grits his teeth. With his knit cap and unkempt beard, he’s a hobo’s clone. “Crowe has scouts everywhere.” He waves skyward. “You may be willing to put your life on the line. Do not be so careless with mine.” He faces the tomb again, his body rigid against the bow and arrows on his back.

  Stormy rolls her eyes and murmurs past her hand, “That’s Saul Preacher, but most everyone calls him the latter. Don’t mind him.” She winks. “We’re still within the Haven’s boundaries. He’s just paranoid.”

  “The Haven?” I lean in.

  “That’s what we call the island. From shoreline to shoreline is rebel territory. People who remain loyal to the Verity.” Her eyes alight with passion. The same light Wade and Robyn carried when they spoke of King Aidan.

  I’m about to ask more, but her eyes shift and her casual demeanor switches back to that of a silent soldier.

  Gage returns, a young man walking in front of him. So these are the Crypts.

  I clench my fists. What’s Ky doing here?

  My pulse accelerates when he looks at me.

  Probably because I want to strangle him.

  They pass Preacher and stand before Kuna. “Keep an eye on him.” Gage clutches Ky’s shoulder. “And you. No Dragon games. You’ll find I hold no value for the life of a traitor.”

  I lean close to Stormy and whisper through the side of my mouth. “What are Dragon games?”

  “It’s an expression,” she says under her breath. “Dragons are cunning tricksters. Never turn your back on a Dragon.” She juts her chin toward Ky. “Or a traitor.”

  “Did you hear me, traitor?” Gage shakes Ky.

  After another moment Ky nods, his face drawn. Black and blue shrouds his green eye on all sides. Blood trickles from his temple, stains his busted lip. Is this the same boy who held a knife to my side a mere day ago?

  The caravan continues, everyone careful to avoid Ky’s gaze. Hands tied behind his back, he ambles between Preacher an
d Kuna. Any minute he’ll turn the tables. He’ll fight or run. But he doesn’t. What, or who, broke him?

  Before long we pause again. A dead-end wall of ivy looms. It stretches left and right, curving through the trees. “Does this border the entire island?”

  “Yes,” Stormy says. “One of the best façades I’ve ever seen.”

  Façades. Ky mentioned something about them. They’re illusions, like the gap in the Broken Bridge.

  Gage strides to the wall and . . . walks right through.

  And the door at the Threshold beneath the subway. That must’ve been a façade too. One by one, we follow suit. When it’s my turn I hold my breath, whirl when I reach the opposite side. Nothing but a wall of gray, ivyless rock. Weird.

  “It looks so real,” I say.

  Stormy shoos me on. “That’s because it is. The wall is perfectly solid, but there are chinks in the armor. Gaps for entering and exiting that only Guardians know about.”

  Wow. I take one final glance at the wall before shuffling forward. Salty air enters my lungs. The crunch of leaves dies, our footsteps muted.

  We’re near a beach. My heart does the arabesque my klutzy legs and arms never could. The forest thins. The ground changes from dark soil covered in twigs and needles, clover beds, and mushroom patches to soft shore. The rippling sand beckons a memory.

  For my twelfth birthday Mom took me to Nantucket. Being November, it was freezing, the water stinging, salted ice against our naked shins. We got hot chocolate at this little mom-and-pop joint. I don’t even remember its name, just the jar of M&M’s by the register. The vase of yellow silk flowers in the window. The tinkling brass bell over the door. Despite our frostbitten toes and the bitter wind, I never had a better birthday.

  I close my eyes and imagine kicking off my boots, burying my soles in the sand. I’m on that island again with Mom, our fingers interlocked as we run through floating foam. A breeze lifts my bangs. I can almost hear our hearts leap through peals of laughter—feel the warmth of the to-go cup against my palm.

  The moment drifts as I open my eyes to reality. Mom’s not here, and she won’t be unless we hurry. At the water’s edge a large rowboat awaits, Gage and Preacher already aboard. Ky climbs in next, and Stormy and I do the same.